Ever After
by Dark Eyed Seer
Summary: Well, there were only so many Death Eaters for me to catch, see? So when the headmaster wrote me I realised Voldemort DID sort of prepare me for something like teaching.
1. Chapter 1

Severus Snape did not consider himself a difficult person to please. Give him a library, a potion's lab, and some time away from all the miserable little wretches he was forced to teach and he was as happy as he would ever be. Loneliness was not something he had ever dwelt on because it had been such an integral part of him for so very long, he was almost unaware it was even there.

In fact, over the years, he'd come to view any human interaction as an intrusion of the highest measure and responded accordingly.

It went without saying that he despised the welcoming feast.

Albus stood and began recanting all the old, tired speeches Severus had heard time and again since his own days as a Hogwarts student.

The empty chair on Snape's right was pulled out suddenly and was promptly sat in. Severus turned immediately to glare at this new intruder and met a pair of vivid green eyes and an open, attractive smile.

'Not another, Lockhart.' He despaired, before his eyes moved across the handsome young face and settled on a very distinctive, very celebrated lightning bolt shaped scar.

His heart was suddenly in his throat. He turned sharply forward, eyes darting around the room as he unconsciously searched for an escape route.

Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world. The most powerful wizard believed ever to have lived, vanquisher of the Dark Lord, not once but twice.

And, let's not forget, the most notoriously efficient and deadly Auror of the current century.

The man had a nose for Death Eaters. Not a single one had escaped, to Severus's knowledge. Save himself, and arguably Draco Malfoy who had not taken the Dark Mark but by a very narrow margin. His age, in the end, had saved him. Draco had only been sixteen when the Dark Lord was destroyed. The same age Harry Potter must have been himself at the time, Severus now realised.

Apparently the freedoms he had been enjoying for the last five years after Voldemort's downfall were at an end.

He'd been such a fool to trust Albus. He should have known that once he'd outlived his usefulness all the man's efforts to keep him out of Azkaban would end.

He heard a squawk and turned to find Draco Malfoy had fallen out of his chair and seemed to be attempting to crab walk through a wall with little success.

Oh, really, Severus thought, at least go with dignity. The vain young man was certainly not looking remotely attractive now, he thought a little savagely.

He could tell they were causing a scene because the headmaster had paused in his speech and the entire hall seemed to begin whispering at once.

"Ah, yes, let me introduce our new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, Professor Harry Potter. It is his first time at Hogwarts and I'm sure all of you will make him feel welcome."

If the whispering had been grating, the explosion of noise that followed this bit of information was deafening.

The young man in question turned rather red and waved hesitantly at the crowd.

Snape had never realised relief could be just as potent as panic. It swept through him like a tide. His back twanged painfully as the tensed muscles relaxed.

Draco was attempting to recover himself, it appeared. The new Professor Potter was helping him up and asking if he needed to visit the hospital wing.

The Teacher's Assistant seemed to seize upon this excuse and all but bolted from the room. He was most likely retreating to his quarters but one never knew. Malfoy was known for being less than courageous when it came to his own discomfort.

A headache was a reason for him not to get out of bed. Snape had heard more than one tirade from Poppy about the TA visiting her repeatedly for things that amounted to a paper cut to anyone else.

Now that he knew he wasn't about to be escorted off to the dementors, he felt relaxed enough to study his new colleague.

He was absurdly young to be teaching anywhere at twenty-one, let alone the finest school in Britain. But then again sixteen was awfully young to bring down a Dark Lord. And seventeen had been young to begin an illustrious career as a dark wizard catcher.

Reality itself seemed to bend to Potter's will, who was he to stand against it?

He looked too ordinary to be so powerful. He should at least be taller, Snape thought irritably.

Oh, he was attractive, but that Snape knew that long ago when every magazine in the wizarding world began running regular articles about the Boy Who Lived when that blasted Tri-Wizard Cup had went on at Beauxbaton.

Cedric Diggory had died there. They still held memorials every year.

And Potter, if he remembered, had not returned to Durmstrang, instead remaining in France to complete his schooling. He'd turned down Albus's offer of Hogwarts, something that needled at the old wizard to this day, Snape knew.

Of course, not as much as not getting the boy at his school to begin with had. He remembered vividly the usually revoltingly serene Dumbledore in an absolute apoplectic fit over that ten years ago.

The circumstances certainly had been suspicious. Lily and James Potter couldn't have possibly signed up their infant son for Durmstrang, could they? If the boy were to go anywhere but their Alma-Mater, it would have been Beauxbaton at the very least. Lily had loved France.

And for once, Albus's hands were tied. Harry was not on the Hogwarts school list at all and a teacher from Durmstrang had collected Potter weeks before Albus had considered sending Hagrid. Severus suspected what had bothered the headmaster the most what is simply things not going his way. Albus had things go his way at all times.

Snape almost thought it was rather good for him. Maybe brought down his swollen head to merely Megalomaniac size instead of Deity.

Well, it appeared the old codger had finally gotten his wish; Harry Potter was at Hogwarts at last, if a full decade late.

And Merlin help us, Severus thought, shaking himself out of his thought trance to pick up a ladle.


	2. Chapter 2

After his first two attempts to introduce himself had gone over like a lead balloon, Harry was feeling more than a little discouraged.

He felt most comfortable in battle, not social situations. This was something he'd been trying to change about himself for months now. Being an Auror was easy. He was in charge, always, and communication was seldom more than barking orders.

He did not want to be that sort of teacher, merely a version of Karkaroff without the Dark Mark or any paedophilic tendencies. He didn't want to be that sort of staff member either.

So when a dizzy-looking woman in thick glasses sat down next to him, he again, offered his hand in friendship, and promptly blinked in surprise as it was seized and turned over for inspection.

From the corner of his eye he noticed a prim looking woman he vaguely recalled seeing before wince. Guess I've gone and stepped in it then, he thought.

"Oh, you poor, poor dear. I'm afraid you won't be with us much longer." The woman intoned, her voice filled with sorrow. Or at least something that was meant to be interpreted as sorrow.

"Actually, I've signed a five year contract." Harry replied, trying for humour.

"Five years? Oh, no. I'm sorry to tell you this but you will not see Christmas."

Oh, not another death prophecy.

"Your lifeline has already been cut. It's only a matter of time."

He'd heard more than he'd cared to about his lifeline as it was. Palmistry was a shaky divination form at best and even the greatest Masters could not guarantee accuracy. His lifeline had been split twice already.

"Yes, well. I'll keep that in mind." He tried to disengage her death grip as gently as possible but she wasn't letting go.

Instead she caressed his hand in a most discomforting manner, "These hands have known hard labour, unusual in a wizard, especially one so young."

Oh, yes, as if he needed to be reminded of the Dursleys at any time, let alone his first day on a new job.

"Professor Trelawney," The prim woman had apparently had enough, "If you would kindly allow Professor Potter to eat his dinner."

The dizzy woman suddenly looked a lot less dizzy for a moment. In fact, she looked quite sharp and annoyed. But this was smoothed away when the headmaster spoke up.

"It's so kind of you to join us, Sybil. I dare say it's been awhile."

"When the inner eye reveals to me its gifts of future-sight, who I'm I to contest fate? I was about to settle in for a long evening studying my crystal ball when to my surprise I saw myself in the Great Hall. I now understand that it was necessary to warn Professor Potter of his-unfortunate situation. Not that anything can be done. But I do imagine it will allow him to get his affairs in order."

The prim woman snorted delicately. Harry heard something of an echo down both sides of the table. He sensed the dark haired man next to him watching closely. He turned to introduce himself again but received only the barest glimpse of ink-black eyes before the man turned away once more.

Friendly bunch, Harry thought nervously. He looked down at the student tables only to find ninety-eight percent of them alternately between staring at him and stuffing their faces.

He dropped his eyes immediately back to his plate and he shuffled food about in a disinterested manner. He hadn't eaten since breakfast but nerves and rejection always made him slightly nauseous.

It was a bit disheartening to be seated between someone who was eagerly predicting his death and someone else who clearly considered him beneath notice.

And all in front of hundreds of young sets of eyes all picking him apart, which certainly didn't help either.

A door near at hand banged open and a very large shape ducked through.

"Ah, Hagrid! I'm afraid you've missed the sorting and the announcements but let me introduce you to our new staff member." Dumbledore gestured to Harry, "Harry Potter, meet Rubeus Hagrid, our gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor."

A huge, bearded, but very friendly face loomed over him and his hand was seized again and shook rapidly up and down, " 'Arry! You don' remember me, o'course! You were just a baby and all."

The large man's eyes seemed to mist over for a moment, "So tiny, you were. Fit just in the palm of my hand." Hagrid displayed a dinner plate sized appendage, "And such a cute little bugger!"

Harry felt himself going red yet again. He was grateful for the man's open and clearly heartfelt greeting, but to describe this as embarrassing did not do the sensation any justice, "Erm, thank you, Professor Hagrid."

The man gaped at him for a few seconds, "Professor Hagrid! Imagine that! Been teaching now nine years and I'm still not used to that. Call me Hagrid, Harry!"

Harry's smile was genuine now. And he had thought his ability to make friends had ended when he left Beauxbaton! "Of course… Hagrid."

This seemed to please the big man to not end and he settled himself down in a very large chair on Trelawney's other side still beaming.

"So, Potter, I've heard you're a dream on a broom. Fancy helping out with the House Quidditch Tournament this year?" This was from a robust looking woman with golden, cat-like eyes sitting on the headmaster's immediate left.

Now THIS captured Harry's full attention, he was immediately immersed in an animated discussion of the latest Starfire model racing broom (Of which Harry owned) versus the slightly outdated but nonetheless nearly perfect Firebolt Fury (of which Harry also owned) with one Madame Hooch.

If Harry was guilty of anything, it was his hedonistic tendencies. He did tend to spoil himself; he supposed it was some sort of reaction to his years with Dursleys. Brooms were no exception to the rule. In fact, they were his worst vice. He owned twelve; three of them custom made, and flew them all regularly.

Well, they have Quidditch, even if I can't play myself, he thought, and nowhere could be that bad if it had Quidditch.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry followed the house elf to his new quarters and tried his best to memorize the way. It just wouldn't do to get himself lost on the way to breakfast tomorrow. And it was a distinct possibility; the staircases had a very disquieting tendency to change whenever he stepped on them.

At first he'd assumed they did this for everyone, but after a moment of observation he realised they seemed to behave randomly with everyone else. And every single time he placed his feet on the steps, they switched.

Maybe even the castle didn't like him, he thought gloomily, but then made himself smarten up. He'd felt no sense of rejection from the building at all. For all he knew, this was how the stairs reacted to those they liked, like a private joke or something.

"This way, Master Professor Harry Potter Sir," The little elf squeaked stopping in front of a portrait.

The angular, dark haired man in the picture folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, "And who's this then?"

Harry fought back an insane urge to offer his hand, "I'm the new Defence professor."

The portrait didn't look impressed, "I suppose you have a password ready to set?"

"Um, right," Harry thought quickly, "how about 'Butterbeer'?"

The portrait looked disgusted, "Try again, I refuse to accept foolishness as a security measure."

"O.K. How about 'Patronus'?"

"Better, but still far too easy."

Harry licked his lips, "How about 'Horcrux'?"

And he was rewarded with a look of frank astonishment, "How do you know about THAT?"

Harry smirked cheekily, "Is it an acceptable password or not? And I still don't have your name."

"Yes, it is quite acceptable. I am Salazar Slytherin, of course. I belong in the dungeons; don't ask me why I was hung all the way up here. Now, tell me the name of the young whelp who knows of Soul Magic."

"I'm Harry Potter, now if you don't mind I have unpacking to do." Harry copied the portrait's raised eyebrow and grinned when he swung open.

The rooms he was greeted with were spacious and airy. The still warm night breeze flowed in from many windows. The chambers were circular as all tower rooms tend to be. He stood in what he assumed to be a sitting room, though it was completely empty. There was a good sized kitchenette as well as stairs to the upper level.

Harry climbed the circular stairs wearily and found his new bathroom, far larger and more luxurious than he was used to and filled the tub.

He'd come directly from his last mission, the rain in Germany had made flying perilous and less than pleasant. The hot, soapy water he was soon immersed in was absolute heaven to his tired body.

He climbed out of the tub when he started nodding off; if Harry Potter were to drown his stupid self after Lord Voldemort couldn't finish him off the irony would be enough to make the afterlife unbearable.

Transfiguring a bed from one of the spell books in his trunk he reminded himself to find real furniture tomorrow. With a sleepy 'nox' the lights winked out and he was asleep before he even registered the starlight overhead.

Harry awoke the next morning to a small grey owl nibbling at his ear lobe. He opened one eye wearily, "Oh, come on! I still have…" He cast a 'tempus' and glowered at the glowing number, " two hours before I have to be up!"

The owl bit him harder and stuck its leg out. Harry shot his a look of pure disgust and opened his message.

_Dear Professor Potter,_

_There will be a staff meeting this morning before breakfast to go over this term's scheduling. I trust you remember where the staff room is."_

_Albus Dumbledore._

Harry let loose a string of Russian curses that seemed to ruffle the grey owl's feathers mightily. It puffed itself out at glared at him in reproach.

"Clothes!" Harry muttered staggering out of bed starkers. He stubbed his toe on his trunk, which was still shrunken on the floor but no less solid.

Merlin, what am I going to wear? He resized the trunk and rooted through his belongings hopefully.

As if, just last week, he'd wandered into Gladrags and found the perfect teachers outfit, managing to be both flattering and intimidatingly proper.

If wishes were hippogriffs than beggers would ride, Harry though moodily.

Why hadn't he gone shopping?

Oh, yes, he had no life. His entire being previous was focused on his Auror duties. And all his clothing, therefore, was functional and not at all proper.

Harry winced when he unearthed only three pairs of trousers. He certainly couldn't go in his jeans as he had the night before, and his black pyjama pants with the little whirring snitches were also probably not a good idea.

He promised himself a trip to Hogsmeade before the day was out and pulled on the only pair left.

Severus Snape was not a morning person. In fact, he believed these so called morning people needed to be medicated and locked away from the rest of society because surely it was the sign of serious mental illness.

Pomona Sprout was a morning person. And she accosted him at the door to the staff room with a disturbingly chipper "Good Morning!"

And now the running of the gauntlet between the door and the coffee machine could begin.

Albus blocked his path with scones, but Severus nimbly sidestepped him, Minerva (oh, look who's had at least two cups already, the insensitive cow) McGonagal gave him a superior smile and asked if he would like a bowl of porridge. All the time knowing full well he detested the Scottish answer to quick drying cement.

And, at last, there was the bespelled coffee machine that gifted him every morning with the will to live.

Unfortunately there was someone already there seated inches away from it. Professor Potter's head was on the table, one eye was closed, the other carefully monitoring the level of the freshly brewing coffee as it dripped into the decanter. A mug was gripped in one hand.

He would have been amused at this if he hadn't been in equally dire straights.

He took his own mug out of the cabinet and stood next to the machine on the other side. Neither man acknowledged the other until the little beep sounded signalling the brew complete.

Then both reached for the dispenser at the same time. They eyed one another wearily. Just a single hour earlier in the morning and there would have been audible growls.

Potter let go, though, and Severus gratefully poured himself the elixir of life before handing it back. Potter used a truly obscene amount of cream and sugar, he noticed.

He smugly drank his own black.

"Now that we're all here we can begin!" Albus pronounced with the true sadism of the morning people.

Oh, how he hated them. Potter, at least, seemed not to have this quirk. Severus studied him from the corner of his eye.

He was again clad in black, his robe tossed over the chair. It looked like part of the Auror uniform if the silver trim was anything to go by. Didn't the man have any proper garments?

It was when the other man stood up that Severus did a double take. Great Merlin, was the man wearing leather pants?


	4. Chapter 4

Severus snapped his head forward and darted his eyes around the room. No one else seemed to have noticed.

The Potions Master experienced a confusing mess of desire to call the young man on his highly inappropriate attire but also the suddenly unwelcome knowledge that that would cause him to stop wearing The Pants.

He darted his eyes back to The Pants.

Professor Potter had apparently dropped his copy of he class schedule and it had floated under the table on the early fall breeze coming in through the window.

Professor Potter naturally followed the paper in order to retrieve it. This involved getting on all fours. And he was wearing The Pants.

Severus actually felt his entire body taking great notice of this all at once. He snapped his jaw shut and glanced back to Albus and the others to see what they made of this display.

Professor Binns was droning on about having the second years right before lunch and what inattention this caused. If Severus' brain had been supplied with blood at that moment he no doubt would have drawn his own conclusions about inattention in History of Magic.

But no one was even looking in their direction.

Professor Potter was no doubt even less awake then Severus had thought because it seemed to require a great deal of time and wiggling in order to regain the lost parchment.

When it looked like the young man was about to turn around, Severus snapped his head forward again. He felt a twinge in his neck and resisted the urge to rub it.

Binns was still prattling on. Severus had been in the ghost's class when he was still alive, he hadn't been bearable then and death certainly hadn't improved his pedagogy. He risked looking at Potter through the corner of his eye.

Potter was taking a sip of his coffee and blinking sleepily down at the grids on the retrieved schedule. He spilled a drop on the snow white dress shirt he was wearing tucked into The Pants, winced and spelled it away with a casual wand flick.

Severus' eyes now started to water and he looked forward again.

No, he certainly didn't want to be the only one commenting on his colleague's choice of raiment.

Because they might not voice the question aloud, but all of them would be thinking, 'Why in Merlin's name did HE notice? Why is HE so concerned about them?'

As Harry sat down to breakfast he happened to glance down Great Hall and it all hit him at once. Oh, no, the students! How had he forgotten about the students?

In less than an hour he would be sitting, alone, in front of a large group of them. He would be expected to teach them things. Things that they needed to learn in order to pass their Ministry exams and graduate and have happy successful lives. Their futures were in his clumsy hands!

He would need to grade tests and papers. Oh, Merlin! He would need to MAKE tests and ASSIGN papers.

And he would need to make speeches. In fact, lectures are nothing but speeches that go on for hours.

Harry hated speeches, everyone insisted he was a brilliant speaker but he always felt like the most awkward, babbling fool ever to have waved a wand up on the podium.

WHY had he signed up for this? Who in their right mind signed up for this? Is that how all teachers here were hired? Dumbledore must be Imperiusing everyone at the interview into signing away their lives and then releasing them when it's too late to back out.

'You can't be Imperiused, genius.' His mind reminded him.

Which only meant he had done this sober and willing.

Don't they know I make stupid choices like this all the time? When it had nothing to do with fighting and battle strategy or Quidditch and flying, he was absolutely the last person you wanted to ask. Don't I have friends to protect me from myself?

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately that was when he dearest friend showed up with a missive from his next dearest.

As the morning mail soared in Severus looked up at the excited shouts, much louder than usual and from what seemed like the entire Hall. Surely after several years of this the older students, at least, shouldn't be making such a fuss?

As he followed their pointing fingers he saw the reason for their milieu.

Standing out like a jewel against earth, a bright flash of emerald and gold zipped through the flood of owl in a most fascinating manner. The creature swooped and whirled along to the staff table where the teachers finally got a good look.

At first he rather irrationally thought it a young dragon. But someone with Potter's social standing certainly wouldn't own an illegal animal.

The answer came to him at once from a picture book over thirty years before. It was a kitling, closely related to dragons differing only in size and being slightly more intelligent.

But they were rare enough to be considered extinct in that old mouldering tome he'd found in his grandfather's attic. He'd been about five or six, just old enough to wander about on his own. He remembered caressing the pages, fascinated by the beautiful creatures that glittered, still bright, from the dusty pages.

Without looking up he knew he wasn't alone in his inability to look away.

It was the size of a large housecat and its very form screamed dragon, all sinewy and fluid. The scales, he discovered and he squinted were not any single color but iridescent and changing as they hit the light.

The little animal not only allowed Potter to stroke it, it leaned into his touch eagerly with little pleased sounding growls. Potter poured it a bowl of milk and turned his attention away and onto the scarlet envelop the kitling had delivered.

Severus finally shook himself out of his second Potter-induced trance of the day and noticed the Howler.

The young man next to him sighed and broke the seal.

At once a blast of angry French filled the air.

It took Severus a few moments to grasp on what was being said, his own knowledge of the language had gone unused for nearly ten years.

'So help me, if you EVER fly off and don't floo, or write, or com me again I hex you into next Christmas! When I think of what could have happened to you after that awful Rosier (this, of course, she pronounced Rose-ee-ay) all alone in Germany! And you've always hated the Black Forest! You shouldn't have even gone! Oh, Henri I was SO worried!'

After this the tone of the letter changed completely and the angry female voice became soft and lilting.

'Oh, Henri, I know you must be worried about your first day at school! Don't fret, my little lion, you will be magnificent!'

Then an equally lilting male voice piped up, 'Fleur! It's my turn! I told you not to send it as a Howler!'

The two French voices then proceeded to have what sounded like a wrestling match over the Howler quill.

The male voice came on again, 'Sorry, my friend, I tried to get her to just write you a proper letter. She was too upset. I can't tell you how glad I am that you're going to be in one place for more than to days at a time! Now we won't always be worrying that you ended up in a gulag somewhere in Azerbaijan. Oh, wait. THAT already happened! Sorry, not a very funny joke. I'm sure it was awful.'

The female voice was shrieking in the background.

'Oh, fine. Listen, my friend, I need to go. Don't worry about the teaching thing. What's a bunch of snot-nosed, snivelling-'A shriek from the woman silenced this train of thought, 'What I mean to say is- you'll do fine!'

'But yes of course, my little lion was born to roar, was he not?' Fleur, the female voice, added.

The Howler burn itself out.

Professor Potter's forehead rested on the table. All the around the Great Hall hundreds of young people wanted very, very much to laugh.

Severus found himself shooting death glares right and left at all those that even looked like they were about to break.

The Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs, naturally, were completely out of the loop. Most of Ravenclaw and quite a few Slytherins had been studying French for years, though, and most likely knew what was said better than Severus himself.

Minerva laid a comforting hand on the young professor's shoulder, "It was very-kind of your friends to send you're their well-wishes. I'm sure they thought they were being helpful.

Potter raised himself up, only the barest hint of the telltale blush still remained and his mouth was twisted into a positively evil smile, "Oh, yes. I shall just have to return the favour. To thank them properly, of course."


	5. Chapter 5

At least Galadriel looked sympathetic. Everyone else was stifling laughter. Harry scratched the base of her wings to show his appreciation.

She thrummed at him and climbed onto his shoulder. He spent the rest of the meal offering her tidbits from his plate and planning out a vicious Howler of his own.

He managed to walk to his classroom under his own power and without incident but buckled when he finally stood in from of the door.

Scotland really is lovely in the morning, he thought while he chained smoked Gauloises Blondes on the tower rooftop of his class. He could hear the students coming in through the open door. Conversation drifted up the staircase.

"I heard he wrestled a dragon once. 'Course, it was a small dragon or something, but STILL!"

"Do you think he'll give us a test the first day on what we learned last year? Of course, that'd be hard as no one learned ANYTHING last year in Defence…"

"Small dragon? Didn't you ever here about the Tri-Wizard Tournament? I was only five but I still have my scrapbook…"

Harry swallowed and checked his watch. 'Time to Teach a Class' it read, the writing on the clock face shimmered in a rather garish fashion, as if knowing he was dreading this. It was a brand new setting; maybe the watch was just excited about reading something other than 'Time to Fight for Your Life', or 'Time to Visit the Healers'.

He absently crushed the last cigarette butt under one dragon-hide boot, once more promising himself he would quit the nasty habit THIS YEAR, as he had for the last six seven years or so.

He stood in the doorway at the back of his classroom feeling very awkward and oddly shy. The students, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor second years, had all found their seats and were being incredibly well-behaved.

It was very suspicious.

Harry shook himself out of his torpor. He'd faced down desperate men and women, eager to see him dead. He'd destroyed the greatest Dark Lord the world had ever known. He'd out flown and out manoeuvred dragons and very hostile opposing Quidditch teams. Both of which would have dearly loved to eat him alive.

A dozen twelve year olds should not create the kind of panic he was experiencing. In battle his sang froid was legendary. But battle was easy; all you had to do there was make sure not to die.

He straightened his spine and walked silently through the aisle. Students jerked left and right in surprise at his sudden appearance.

Harry got to the front and turned to face them, he fought an urge to worry his lip.

Twelve expectant young faces looked up at him. But there was something… odd in their expressions. It was polite sympathy he realised. Evidentially their French-speaking peers had enlightened them as to the contents of his Howler.

They knew he was nervous and were trying to be encouraging.

He was being patronized by people who still needed to raise their hands to go to the loo. Harry didn't know whether to be insulted or touched.

He cleared his throat. Quills were poised all over the room in anticipation.

Now what in the Nine Levels of Hell was I going to talk about, he thought furiously.

A bright-looking Ravenclaw girl with curly blonde hair raised her hand. Bless her, a question, Harry thought, and nodded encouragingly at her.

"I was wondering what our term project was going to be so can get a start on it, Professor Potter."

Stifled groans were heard around the room and there was a great deal of eye-rolling. Harry smiled when he heard a hissed, "Great Merlin, Lucinda, that's not due until after Christmas!"

Right, finally something he could say.

"I was thinking of giving you three projects this year. One would run year-long, in fact life-long if you keep it up…" Harry broke off when he saw squints of confusion, "Perhaps I'd better explain that one first."

Harry picked up a heavy black leather volume and caressed it fondly, "This is my Book of Shadows, I started it when I was a first year. This book has been with me around the world, through thick and thin and I consider it my dearest possession.

I'm giving the same assignment to you that I was given. You will create a personal Grimoire, a Book of Shadows, An Uncommon Place Book, whatever you want to call it. In this book you will collect all the spells, potions, charms, enchantments, hexes, jinxes, banes, etcetera that you gather in your repertoire. In it you will tweak your magic, train your elemental ties to obey you, and really become the witch or wizard you were meant to be."

Harry was warming onto his subject now and the awkwardness was fading away.

"I stand here before you seeing the future in front of me. I see nothing but potential. Each and every one of you has your own magical presence, your own talents, and your own interests. This project will be intensely personal and really it isn't for me, for Hogwarts, for anything other than you.

I'm giving you the opportunity to discover yourselves through your magic and I urge you if you only do one meaningful piece of work in your entire school careers make it be your Book."

The class blinked almost as one when he placed the Book back on his desk and seemed to come out of a room-wide trance.

Lucinda raised her hand, Harry nodded.

"May I see your Book of Shadows, Professor? So I have an example?"

Harry did bite his lip this time as she clearly had no idea what she was asking. Harry knew many people who would sooner hand over their own freshly gouged eyeballs than their Grimoire. Fortunately Harry had no such need or desire for secrecy.

He tapped the Book with his wand to allow it to be read and handed it to her.

The entire class jumped up and crowded around the girl's desk. He stood behind them and glanced down at the familiar well-worn pages. His own childhood penmanship greeted him.

He remembered suddenly being that eleven year old boy, lost in a strange country, in a strange new magical world.

The very first spell he had written in his book had been Expelliarmis. A rather dismal beginning if the first spell he felt the need to know was one to protect himself, wasn't it?

He'd written carefully in the margins, 'Professor Nakabov used this to disarm Nikolai when he tried to hex me. VERY effective.'

Lucinda the Ravenclaw had turned the page. This one had little moving Quidditch figures flitting about around the main text. Appropriate as it was Wingardium Laviosa.

He let them poke about his book for awhile but stopped them promptly when they turned to the section he had begun in his fifth year. After the Tournament and after Cedric his one the fence neutrality about the Dark Arts had shifted. Those spells he didn't want anyone below seventh year attempting. And even then, he didn't want to be the one teaching them that.

He could almost hear the Howlers now.

"So, now that you all know what it looks like, who can tell me what makes it special?"

Lucinda's hand shot up, "You've obviously warded it so no one else can read it unless you let them. And it's in too good a shape. You must have put preservation charms."

"Very good. Ten points to Ravenclaw." He added the last part a bit hesitantly. The concept that he had the power to give and take house points was oddly daunting.

"I also used some mild transfiguration to make it look just so. Your Books can look however you please. It's also water-proof, potion-proof, fire-proof, and I've added a variation on wizardspace to make it essentially unending. You may find you change elements of your Book as you change. My friend Fleur had a bright pink feathery one that only wrote in purple ink until her seventh year. Now it's a very elegant woven cloth design and the writing changes color according to the emphasis she personally puts on the information.

I will only view your Books twice and you will be in the room when I do. I will not write in them or alter them in anyway. Their contents will remain strictly confidential. You should be thinking about a suitable binding right now and I would recommend make the first spells you put in it the spells you're going to teach yourself when creating it. I will make myself available if you need help but these are your Books and all the work will need to be done by you."

With a jolt, Harry realised the class was almost over and he'd spent the entire time blathering on.

"Now, what we'll actually be doing in this class… I will be focusing a great deal on practical work and all your exams will be practical. I will assign at least one essay a month and a lot of the tests will be written. As I have you three days a week which would you prefer, two days full practical and one lecture day or would you like the time to be evenly divided?"

Harry stared at his plate in his amazement at lunch. I can't believe I made it, he thought. Two whole classes and he was somehow still here.

His second class had been a bit more challenging with fourth year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. The rumour mill was very lively at Hogwarts and he'd needed to stare down a great many whisperers. He had a feeling the teachers even had resorted to telling tales out of school.

This suspicion was confirmed when a precocious Gryffindor first year approached the staff table as he was pushing in his chair.

"Professor Potter! Professor McGonagall said that you were an animagus, too!"

Harry blinked at her, this wasn't exactly common knowledge but he was legally registered with the Ministry. At least one of his forms was, anyway. What the Ministry didn't know wouldn't hurt everyone else.

She apparently took his lack of reply for some kind of prompt. Harry noticed a gathering behind her. They were the slightly less brave souls, still curious but without this little one's mettle. "Can we see your animagus form, Professor?"

Harry thought about it, there really was no reason why he shouldn't.

Plus, he admitted to himself privately, sometimes it was fun to show off.

Professor Potter seemed to vanish, but Professor Snape reacted rather strongly to the creature the high staff table hid from view.

It had been an undignified yelp as the animal brushed by him, very out of character for the normally laconic Potions Master and the entire hall was now watching.

A large black panther slinked out, its coat gleaming almost blue where the light hit it. Great, luminous green eyes gazed calmly across the great hall. One effortless leap and the great cat strode down the table, the tip of his tail flicking back and forth lazily.


	6. Chapter 6

Severus sucked his breath in through his teeth. The wild cat sauntered along the table with comfortable air, calmly showing off every inch of his magnificence as if to say, 'Here you go. Take a nice long look, better to get it all in the open now.'

The Potions Master thought he would have been able to recognize Potter even if he hadn't transformed in front of everyone. The panther had the very same casual, lazy sort of power. He could rip you to pieces in the blink of an eye… but he enjoys you, so he'd rather not. It might be best to avoid tempting him though.

The first year (Bloody Gryffindor, just like the rest of them, bold as brass!) was hesitantly stroking the black velvet coat. Potter allowed it.

If that had been me, she'd have pulled back a stump, Severus thought, ignoring the fact that he had to consciously stop his hand from reaching over and doing the same thing.

Snape sat down to dinner awaiting fresh spectacle. After all, breakfast and lunch with Professor Potter had been true to form. As had the evening before.

It certainly was odd that one who seemed to always try and avoid the spotlight was forever bathed in it.

There was a spectacle, though, for once, Potter was not at the center of it.

Madame Pince had been Hogwarts librarian since time out of mind. Age had not mellowed her, not even physically. Indeed, she was as twisted and hardy as the Whomping Willow.

No one doubted her strength, either, as the doors to the great hall slammed open.

"DUMBLEDORE! ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, I QUIT! I've had ENOUGH! I can't take it anymore!" She screeched, causing a cacophony of clattering cutlery. Several backs were helpfully thumped to dislodge inhaled food.

"I put up with three generations of Weasleys! I've let slavering hoards of the most careless and inept and FILTHY hands touch precious books! You know what they do? They turn down page corners! They keep their places by setting the book facedown and opened! Do you know what that does to the spine? They DOODLE unicorns and Quidditch players in the margins! They lose books! They let them get wet and smeared with chocolate! They don't care!" This last sentence was lost in a wail.

Severus noticed Potter conjuring a black and silver handkerchief and floating it over.

Madame Pince blew her nose and reared back again, "AND THE STAFF!"

There a great deal of surprised blinking on shuttered faces.

"Always looking down on me and working me to the bone requesting books on the most obscure topics imaginable and expecting ME to assemble their research materials for them!"

Severus wondered if it had been his recent request about the potions potential of kitling scales that had finally driven the old bat over the edge.

And then decided he didn't care either way.

"I've had enough, Albus! I'm retiring as of this moment. I'm going back to my little cottage in Spinner's End and writing my memoirs."

Severus was slightly horrified that they shared a home town. Oh well, it wasn't as though he ever went to the crumbling shack he was raised in. It wasn't like he had ever even considered the place home. It was just where he happened to be from.

Albus the King of Appropriate Responses was making all the necessary soothing noises and calming gestures. Severus watched this process with the objective eye of one who is witnessing a completely foreign custom. He often felt this way, utterly outside society. He existed apart from all this bizarre social nicety and physical contact.

They all had their little pairs and groupings. He glowered down the student tables observing giggling groups of girls, roughhousing boys, and the odd pair with their heads shoved together clearing discussing matters of utmost importance to teenagers.

Even the staff did that. Minerva and Pomona, Filius and Hagrid, Vector and Sinestra, Filch and that flea-bitten cat, even that absolute twit of a Muggle Studies professor was all friendly with Trelawney.

Although, it's possible he's merely shagging her, Severus thought hopefully.

His mood only went down hill when he thought about shagging. Torture by means of the Cruciatus Curse would not drag his abysmally limited sexual experience out of his lips. Veritaserum would not gain you the knowledge of exactly how many years it had been since his last human contact.

And NOTHING on this earth was ever going to drag forth the sudden and completely bloody MENTAL torch he seemed to be now burning for the Defence teacher.

Could you have perhaps found someone a little more out of your Quidditch League? Universally known and beloved, brilliant, powerful, beautiful Potter. It would almost be funny if it happened to someone else.

He's James Potter's son! The rational part of his brain reminded him. The lecher had replies, though. Ah, but he looks like Lily. You can live with the hair when he has those eyes.

Those eyes were looking at him. Oh, his pretty little mouth was moving.

"What?" Oh, yes, bark at him like Hagrid's dog. You're a shoe in now.

"I said, the Headmaster just told Minerva he has someone in mind for the librarian position. He said it was a former student." Potter supplied, appearing unaffected by Severus' vitriol.

"Who?" Oh, wonderful. Now we are an owl. The sound of a single person applauding filled his head.

"Um, a Hermione Granger."

NO.

"Albus! No!" Severus actually stood to face the headmaster head on, "You cannot let that know-it-all, stuck up little priss back in this school!"

The only way this could possibly be worse was if it were the Weasley twins. And even then, the worst they would do was set off a few Filibuster Fireworks. Granger would prattle. She would meddle. She would stick her nose in and comment when she had no business in the conversation at all. And she would be a staff member! Without House Points and bad grades to wield as weapons he would be vulnerable to her onslaught.

And she had eyes like a hawk and too many brains then were good for her. She wouldn't be a fool, jumping to incorrect conclusions and gossiping about nonsense. No, she would KNOW things. And he was a man with entirely too many secrets, even in this time of peace.

"Severus, don't look so worried. Miss Granger is going to do a bang up job. Professor Potter, I'm sure you'll get along fine with her. She was Head Girl in her seventh year." Albus beamed over at them, eyes twinkling like demented pixies.

As if by being made Head Boy or Girl one automatically became competent for any and all tasks. James Potter had been Head Boy in Severus' own seventh year, after all. Obviously the selection process left a lot to be desired.

Severus cut up his roast rather savagely after that. Now Potter can have his own little friend, Hermione Granger was just the cheerful, chattery sort he would be suited to. How marvellous.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry found himself finishing dinner almost disgustingly pleased with himself. He had had four whole classes; they hadn't dragged him off gibbering to the third floor of St. Mungo's yet.

And it would be a ridiculously easy year. Fifth Years and above had the option to drop Defence class. And every last one of them had. He only had First through Fourth to contend with. No OWL or NEWT preparation needed, which meant the damage he could do to their fragile little minds and educational future was seriously limited.

He continued out of the great hall and toward his office in this happy daze, blissfully unaware of what lay ahead.

"Professor Potter." A voice called him from behind.

He turned to find Professor Snape at his side already, "Yes, M- Professor Snape." Damn, he still had to swallow back the odd honorific. It would look rather odd to be going about kowtowing to his equals.

"I was wondering if that kitling of yours has shed any of its scales recently."

It took Harry a few seconds to actually respond because his train of thought had abruptly derailed by the Potions Master's silky voice. I could listen to him read the London Floo Directory, Harry thought.

"Yes." Harry was pleased with himself for actually managing to answer the question. Who knew the man had a voice like that? Harry realised he'd never heard him speak at length.

Oh, how did he manage to speak so softly and still be heard so clearly? What?

"What? I'm sorry, I mean, pardon?" Harry floundered, feeling like a complete girl's blouse, and a blushing, giggly one at that.

"I said, I was wondering how much you might charge per scale." Snape repeated, looking slightly irritated.

Well, no wonder, Harry thought guiltily. Then the actual question sank in and he was surprised enough to reply, "You mean you want them?"

"It is my belief that kitlings, as a species, may actually carry more concentrated magical properties in their scales then dragons. I pursue my own research here at the school and I think experimenting with the scales may at least give me the opportunity to publish a few academic papers since the subject, so far, has been overlooked."

Harry's first thought in response to this was, 'Gah'.

Something seemed to change about the other Professor's entire being as he was talking about his research. Bright bursts of magic suddenly showed through the gloom that seemed to wrap itself around the other man. His aura was suddenly alive in a way Harry rarely saw.

His eyes were not the inky depths Harry had been thrown into on his first evening at the school. They looked lighter, brighter. He realized they were actually a very warm chocolate brown.

Harry trusted his Sight above all other things. It alone had never forsaken him since he had manifested the ability in his fifth year of school. He trusted it now.

Harry gave the Potions Master a genuine smile, "You can have them, actually. I've only been saving them because- well, because they're pretty." He flushed, saying that, realising how foolish it sounded.

"I put them in a basket in my office. I'm going there now if you have the time." Harry offered.

"For ingredients as rare as these, I will make time." Was the enigmatic reply he was graced with.

Harry nodded with a grin of assent and they started off down the hall. Around the first turn they encountered a row of students. Harry wondered what was going on, he blinked at them in surprise as he turned the corner.

Only to find the continuation in the form of another row of students. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.

He later supposed it should have occurred to him, 'Gee, it looks like it might be some kind of line.'

It didn't.

"What on earth are they up to?" Snape asked him, eyeing the students they passed in clear suspicion.

This was answered for him, when turning yet another corner; they found the row of students ascending up the staircase and right to an office door.

His office door.

Harry and Snape walked up the stairs and Harry (Professor Potter! Remember, you're a Professor.) stopped and unlocked his door with a dismissive gesture.

"What is the meaning of all this, Rackem?" Snape asked archly, obviously recognizing the older student at the head of the line.

"We were all hoping to get into Professor Potter's class, sir. We all have the forms." 'Rackem' held up the dreaded piece of Hogwarts paper work. In fact, they all did. Harry gazed down at the sea of hassle he'd just been tossed into and sighed.

"Give me a few minutes to finish with Professor Snape and I'll get… started." He trailed off and swept into the office. He heard Snape close the door behind him.

"Well, you're certainly… popular." Snape offered.

Harry collapsed in his chair. He loved this chair. He'd found it in an abandoned classroom on the third floor during his free period that morning. He was suddenly very glad he'd spent some time making his office more comfortable today.

He certainly didn't seem to be able to leave it any time soon.

Snape had spent some time practicing how he would deal with Professor Potter in the matter of the scales. All morning he'd been dickering prices in his head as he passed out syllabi and gave detentions.

His… attraction for the young teacher notwithstanding, he certainly couldn't afford higher than twenty galleons an ounce. The scales were very likely worth a lot more than that. And he must have the scales.

Ever since he saw the creature his mind had been seized with it. Dragon based ingredients were highly potent and essential for a great many defensive potions. Kitling ingredients must have some of the same properties.

And no one had ever experimented with them. He was certain, as a boy he'd studied potions and their history with fervour. He knew every variation on Dreamless Sleep and he was not wrong in this.

The idea of being first in his chosen field was intoxicating.

But he couldn't do it unless he got the scales.

So he made himself calm and tramped down on his ire over the Granger debate and approached the DADA instructor.

The younger man seemed to be a bit like Albus in that it seemed difficult to get his complete attention, Severus thought as he repeated his request and explain his need for the scales.

But then, Professor Potter seemed to come back down to earth and he was hit with the man's smile as though it were a Confundus Hex. His lungs felt suddenly robbed of air.

It was almost a relief when the young professor turned away, inviting him to his own office. He realized his must have mumbled some automatic reply because he was following.

Potter looked so dismayed by the line of students outside his door it was almost comical. That's what one gets when one makes oneself likable, he thought.

Or perhaps he's just the first competent Defence teacher they've seen and the novelty is just too good to pass up.

Potter's office held no clutter, the man had only been in office a day, and he wasn't likely to have accrued the masses of miscellaneous that had descended onto Snape's own areas.

There was a row of very expensive broomsticks mounted on the wall behind his desk. Snape leaned over to read their brand names. Starfire, Windchaser, Firebolt, Firebolt Fury, Comet 670, Depeche 66, Nimbus 2000… there were three that only had HP emblazoned on them in golden lightening bolts. He supposed that meant they were custom made. Two more were written in Cyrillic.

Severus turned to the desk and spotted his quarry. A delicate woven reed basket contained what looked like half a pound of the precious scales, glittering and shifting color.

"Oh, yeah, that's it." Potter remarked, apparently out of his student inspired coma.

Severus picked up the basket at once, being mindful not to actually clutch it like a lifeline, "I'll just… send them in, shall I?"

Potter covered his eyes with one hand, "If you would be so kind."


End file.
